G8 Talk Show
by IggySwitzy
Summary: In an effort to help resolve the world's newest set of problems, the G8 meeting is coming live! Which is...a little disastrous, honestly, but what's better than working out problems through reasonable conversation and- Gosh darn it, Russia! You're *not* invited! Rated for language and Crack
1. First One's A Charm

**G8 Talk Show!**

_**AN: **I wanted to revisit an idea that I had a couple years ago ^ ^; and since the annual G8 meeting is coming up!... I made almost-crack XD_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

_"Guten Morgen alles, und willkommen auf-"_

"Dude, no one understands German except your people! Hahaha."

Germany's face turns about fifty shades of pink before settling on a pale red. "Ahem, my apologies. Um, good morning everyone and welcome to this year's, 2015, Group of Eight meeting. I am Germany and I will be your host for the first few sessions." Straightening the stack of files in front of him, Germany looks directly into the camera and offers a small, forced smile before turning his attention to the countries around the table.

"Since this _is _our first live meeting, I should introduce every nation present," Germany says, more so to himself, and then lifts an arm to America. "When it is your turn, please stand so that the viewers may not be confused …That goes to you too, America."

"Oh! Yeah, but shouldn't every one already know me?"

England growls at his side and grabs America's ear, yanking him up roughly. "You twit, not _everyone _is unfortunate enough to know you."

America dramatically grabs his chest, "That hurts, Iggy," he says. "Everyone needs a hero." With that said, before Germany can yell at him too, America spins on his heel to beam a broad grin at the camera. "I am-"

Germany cuts him off. "This is the United States of America-"

"And I'm the hero! Bringing democracy to all across the globe!" America shouts, throwing a fist into the air just to emphasize. At that, England grabs him by his waist and pulls him into his chair. "Hey! What was that for? I wasn't finished!"

"I will give you a burger if you remain seated," England grumbles.

"No!"

"A double bacon cheeseburger with Swiss cheese, pickles, lettuce, tomato, and very, very special Mac sauce. I might even throw in a triple chocolate chip cookie if you shut up right now." In mere seconds America's glare shifts from venomous to questioning, and ends at pleading. "Are you serious?" he asks in a whisper, eyes going wide. England just rolls his eyes and nods.

Now with the room in silence, the German country with a frown continues. He gestures for the next person to stand. "This is England, representing the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland," he waits for England to politely wave and sit before going down the conference table. "We have France here, Italy, Japan, and Can- Hey, where's Canada?"

"I could have sworn he was here earlier," Japan comments. He places a hand on the seat beside him and sees that it is decently warm, so someone must have been sitting there not too long ago. "Where could he have gone?"

"Da, where _is _Canada?"

In an almost comical way, everyone's attention is placed on the large, Russian man sitting in a chair in a rather dark corner of the room. His feet are swinging childishly, which is more eerie than the smile parading on his lips. "What?" Russia asks with a giggle.

Germany narrows his eyes at him. "How did you get in here?"

"Oh, you know, through that window over there," he points at the window not too far from him. Shards of glass lay scattered on the floor, with a rope hanging haphazardly in the midst of it. Russia only smiles more at the nervous expression his fellow countries are taking. "That was the only way I could get in without so many guards."

"You make it sound so innocent," Germany sighs into his palm. Running his hand through his hair, he cautiously walks around the glass and stands in front of Russia. "You know that you are suspended from further meetings, correct?"

"Da."

"Which includes this very one, right?"

"Da."

"And that you just disregarded international policies by breaking into here?"

Russia closes his eyes at that and laughs, "But I was invited in."

_Was? _Germany's frown deepens. "By who, exactly?"

"Why don't you ask the Italian over there? He knows."

A loud shattering sound resounds in the room, a plate of spaghetti falling, along with a whimper keen to a cat. "Ugh, Italy-san please do not hide behind me," Japan says. He tries to pull the cowering country away from his back but Italy wouldn't give. He looks up at Germany tiredly. "Help?"

"No no no! Don't sell me out so quickly, Japan, I thought we were friends?!" Italy shouts and then scurries under the table. "He promised me Russian pasta, Germany! I've never had it before and I'm pretty sure that Russia keeps his promises no matter what they are so I agreed to stay quiet about him sneaking in and I mean, isn't it partially you guys' fault for not being more alert? He _did _come in through the window, ve."

Italy settles himself at the very center of the table, making sure that he'd had an escape route in case Germany tries to grab him. "I'm really sorry!"

Crouching beside Japan, Germany stale faces Italy. "Come out from there, Italy. I won't hit you."

"But you'll give me extra training hours!" Italy argues.

Germany lets out a long, annoyed sigh and brings a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. _Stupid, gullible Italy… _Going on all fours, Germany lowers his head and starts to crawl towards Italy. Once close enough, Germany grabs his arm to keep him still. "See, was that so bad? Now, Russia is not supposed to be in here for this year's meeting. Got it? _Gut._ We are coming out now."

"Coming out from _where? _Ohonhonhon the closet?" France snickers and England glares at him as Germany punches his shin. _"Mon Dieu, _ouch okay fine. All you had to say was no more jokes or something. We all know about you and Italy's love – er – friendship."

"Just shut it, France," Germany growls. He pulls Italy out from the table after him and promptly pushes him down into his seat. The blush from earlier is now a bright red, and Germany mentally curses the events of today. How unproductive…

A voice sounds from the front of the room. "Excuse me, Germany sir, but we are out of time for today." The cameraman clears his throat and shrinks behind the camera, only his red cap poking out.

Even more embarrassed Germany strides to the front of the room and clasps his hands together. "Well, this was rather…Actually, no comment. Come back tomorrow prepared for a _real _discussion and Russia-" He goes to address the nation but realizes that the corner is void of life – and much brighter than before. Not even deeming Russia's disappearance with a response, Germany just sighs into his hand. "Have a nice day everyone, and thank you for tuning in…to whatever this was. Oh, and can somebody find Canada?"

"I've been here this whole time…"

* * *

**AN: **Poor, poor failed meeting. Maybe next time it'll go better? We'll just have to see

Have any questions? The G8 may be able to answer them~ Feedback is appreciated


	2. The Second Try

_Big thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorite! It made my day ^ ^ _

_**Warning:** Profanity is used_

_Enjoy~_

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"We're going live in five…four…three...two…"

The camera pans over the room and stops at Germany leaning against the cream colored wall next to the still broken window, frowning down at, what one may assume, Russia beaming an "innocent" smile at him. Germany snarls at the banned country in annoyance before turning on his heel to face the camera. "Hello again everyone, and welcome to the second Group of Eight meeting. Hopefully, unlike yesterday, we will actually get some work done."

The words are harsher than he intended, but with a group of idiots like this, being a "softie" wasn't going to cut it. Germany catches Italy rustling with a fork, trying to hide it under the table but unsuccessful because of Japan's staring, and walks up to the man.

"Italy…"

The younger nation flinches at Germany's voice, not moving to face him. "Ve, I was just, um, I found a pl-plate of pasta and I couldn't let it go to waste," Italy replies hastily. He wasn't going to question Italy about it at first, but such nervousness _and _pasta?

Germany claps his hands on Italy's shoulder to keep him still. "Italy, is the pasta perhaps…Russian?" He asks calmly which earns him a small "eep" from Italy. "Ugh, I thought I told you-"

"VODKAAAAAAAAAA!"

The voice is followed by a very loud thud and a _crack, _debris sputtering out from the deformed table with a man-sized hole in the middle of it. Germany had grabbed Italy to pull him away right as Russia slammed into the table, more fortunate to have been a few feet away from the table compared to the other, disgruntled countries.

"What the flying fuck, Russia?" America shouts. "Dude that was _awesome! _Hahaha!" He easily evades England's swat at his face and growl for him to "shut his trap" because "crashing through the bloody ceiling is _not _awesome in the slightest." What did England know anyway?

"Seriously though, how. did. you. do. that? I could have sworn Germany was glaring at you just a few minutes ago."

Beside him, France groans in pain. "_Mon ami, _I know how much you love to top me but, _S'il vous plait, _get off of me." England looks down in annoyance until he finds that France was sprawled on his stomach, glaring up at him, and trying to buck up to knock the Brit off of his back. The enflamed red on England's cheeks and quick scuffle is enough to make America burst into a fit of heroic laughter.

Crawling up from his position behind a toppled chair, Japan peers over the lifted edge of the conference table just enough to see inside. "Mr. Russia, are you alright?" he asks.

In reply, Japan is given a short chuckle and a smile. "I assure you that I am fine, _da_."

Germany leans over the edge beside Japan, with Italy following, and holds out a hand to help Russia up –which, of course, is rejected. Once the Russian is standing and brushing off his coat and scarf, Germany straightens himself out. _What kind of Dummkopf_…? "Russia…Was that really necessary?"

Placing a finger on his chin, he looks at the gaping hole he created in the ceiling, "_Da._ I believe so. You guys wouldn't have let me in otherwise."

America's voice booms through the room. "That was so _epic!" _Scrambling up from the floor littered with open files, documents, and spilled coffee mugs, America hops over the broken ledge and slides to stand beside Russia. "For how much I don't like your Commie ass, I do have to give you some props."

Russia holds out his palm to stop America's approaching fist bump. "_Nyet, _I do not want to touch your hand," he says with a bigger smile. He ignores the pout America gives him and turns back to Germany. "Well, now that I am here, how about the topic for today?"

"You just destroyed the table!"

"So? We are talking, yes? A table is not essential for conversation." Which Germany couldn't argue with but still…the _principle _of having a table at a meeting. He inhales deeply, a technique frequently used when dealing with Italy, and slowly, almost reluctantly, opens his eyes to take in the damage.

Italy is at the table staring depressingly at his spilled pasta, occasionally glancing at the Japanese nation desperately trying to clean the mess with a blank sheet of paper and water from his mug, using a few other sheets at towels. Beside him is Canada – wait where did he come from? – also trying to pick up stray papers in the area. Across the room England and France are bickering over France's comment about England liking to top him, with America laughing hysterically at their argument. And Russia…Russia was too happy with the disorder he caused.

Another exasperated sigh and Germany wonders how, and why, he deals with these buffoons.

"Alright, everyone," he tries to say over the noise. England yells louder to be heard over America's crackles. "Hey! Everyone!" No attention is put on him. Growing more irritated by the second, he growls and slams his hands on the broken table, sending the opposite upwards and breaking off. "HEY! EVERYBODY SHUT UP!"

It takes a minute for the room to bubble into a whisper and then silence. "Finally," he sighs in relief, "I think we should call this meeting to a close, especially with a shattered window and useless table," almost on command the left half of the table falls to the ground with a thud. "We will resume in a couple days, and I swear to _Gott _if we do not begin our discussion by the next meeting I will personally see to it that your tongue is ripped out of your throat. Got it?"

The other nations groan in response as they get up to brush off their suits and grab whatever belonged to them that wasn't completely crumpled or lost in a heap. Germany waits for England, France, America, and Canada to clear out before grabbing Russia's arm to make sure he stayed for longer.

Glancing over his shoulder to see who grabbed him, Russia furrows his brows. "Do you need something?" he asks.

"Russia," Germany begins, "you are not invited to the next meeting, and if you show up I _will _be forced to uphold my promise."

Not so surprisingly, Russia answers him with a chuckle. He yanks his arm away from the German and takes a large step out from the center of the table, a dark aura forming around him as he walks towards the door. Holding it open for himself, Russia spins so that he can look Germany directly in the eye. "I would like to see you try, Comrade. Until then, I bid you farewell," he says softly, closing the door behind him.

The camera moves from the closed door to show Germany's distraught expression and then cuts off.

* * *

_**AN: **Well then, Russia...thanks for not being creepy *shivers* _

_Feedback is always appreciated! It'll keep Mother Russia at bay_


	3. In The Meantime - Germany and Italy!

**In The Meantime - Germany and Italy!**

_**Info: The 2015 G8 meeting will be held in the Schloss Elmau hotel in Krün, Germany, so the nations are there**_

_Wow, it took me a while to update...Sorry! But for all the GerIta fans out there, this one is for you!_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

"Italy-san, that is not how you play the game…"

"Ve~ but this is a lot cooler, don't ya think?" Italy says as he gently places a marble on top of the stack of teetering marbles. In a pattern of green, white, and red, the marbles shine from the ceiling's gleam, making the glass slightly sparkle.

Japan stares at the abandoned Mancala case and sighs; he really did want to play a serious game, but Italy had more…simplistic ideas - as in building a marble tower, which was becoming rather tall. Slowly leaning closer to avoid moving the table, Japan eyes the tower from the base structure and up, noting how it had a wide foundation to maintain stabilization. So Italy actually put thought into this?

Sitting not too far from the two on the floor, Germany rests on his bed while reading a small novel. Despite his want for peace and quiet after the meeting, he had somehow 'invited' Japan and Italy into his room to 'hang out' for a bit; which actually happened through Italy being allowed inside and then said nation dragging Japan in with him. Germany didn't have too many complaints though, they were his only true friends and he'd just have to kick Italy out once Japan left.

_That could work, _he thinks, _only if Italy actually listens for once._ He lays the book on his face and sighs into it. _Mein Gott…what have I just done? _

"Germany! Germany!" Italy's voice cuts through his train of thought and he looks over the side of the bed to see a fork with spaghetti swirling on it…made out of marbles. "It's _magnifico! _I even let Japan put on the last marble!"

"I was convinced that it would fall, but I was wrong," Japan says with a nod.

Germany just stares at the creation, thinking, _so Italy can build spaghetti statues and mass produce white flags, but he can't throw a grenade – as in the _actual _grenade. _He shouldn't be too shocked, because it is Italy, but the memory made the nation cringe.

Japan suddenly pushes himself off the ground and stands a few feet from the coffee table. Turning to Germany, he bows his head politely then holds out his palm. "I'm afraid that I will have to take my leave now, friend," he smiles, "thank you for having me."

Germany returns the gesture. "It is just a hotel room, Japan, but you are welcome. We will meet in the morning for breakfast, _ja?" _Japans answers him with a _"Hai" _and then goes to say goodbye to Italy but is met with the impact of a train slamming into his stomach a.k.a Italy's hug.

"_Ciao,_ Japan!" He squeezes Japan's shoulder, "See you in the morning!" Having to wiggle out of Italy's tight grasp, Japan wipes off his yukata before leaving the room.

Italy turns on his heel almost immediately. "So, Germany-"

"_Nein, _don't talk, I am trying to read," Germany interrupts. Just to prove his point, the nation lies back on the bed and rolls to his side with the novel in hand, grunting slightly as he shifted to get comfortable.

The marble tower is now swaying from side to side and Italy has to urge to kick it down but resists; although he _did _have a better idea…

Germany turns a page in his novel, basking in the silence – much too still for an ecstatic Italian to be in the room. "Italy?" he calls. No answer. Putting the book to the side, Germany rolls to face the rest of the room and sees no sign of him. "Hey, Italy, where did you go-"

"BOO!" He shouts, jumping from out of practically nowhere and into the German's arms, somehow having lost all of his clothes except for his briefs (surprisingly.) Germany gasps from the impact and his face flares a bright red, naturally wrapping his arms around Italy's waist from keeping him – and himself – from rolling off the bed. "Did I scare you~?" Italy asks.

"No."

"But you looked terrified!"

Realizing their position, Germany tries to scoot from under the Italian but to no avail. "I was not and could you move off of me? I actually was reading until you showed up from nowhere. And where were you hiding anyway?"

Italy wraps his arms around Germany's chest stubbornly and presses his face against his collar. "Under the bed," he mumbles.

Germany grabs Italy by his shoulders and says into the air, "You are making me rather uncomfortable. Please move." Italy just shakes his head in response. Sighing, Germany moves his hands under Italy's chest and pushes him up, grumbling, "You asked for this."

"Nnnngh, Germany I don't want to! You're like a field of masculine flowers and I just want to lay on your chest! How bad is that?"

"It's very bad!"

Italy struggles to remain attached to him and Germany has to push a little harder just to lift the wiggling nation off. Something was off, though. "Your leg is still on me…" he says, poking the limb.

Italy sends Germany a pleading stare with large, pouting eyes. "Can't I just leave it? Ve, it won't hurt you, I'll even make sure not to kick you!" They stare (more so glaring on Germany's side) at each other for what feels like an eternity, but eventually Germany concedes.

"Fine! Just don't try anything, got it?"

"_Si! _But if we're going to sleep, shouldn't you at least take your pants off?"

"…"

"I could do it for you!"

Germany slams the book on Italy's face. "No thank you."


	4. Of Blood and Beer

_Bigger thanks for all of the feedback! Keep it coming ;D _

_I hope you enjoy~_

* * *

His whistles resound through the hallway, footsteps creating a beat to go along with it. America taps vigorously on the screen of his iPad with his eyes glued to game he's playing, tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth as he zones in. He turns a corner thoughtlessly and keeps a steady pace forward. Ear buds blaring rock music on full volume, he can't hear the steps approaching him.

"America-san! I am so happy to have found you," Japan beams, picking up his pace to reach America faster, "I believe that you may have an important document of mine."

America bobs his head forward, "Because the music do…"

"It must have been scrambled when Mr. Russia fell through the ceiling," Japan says with a shy laugh.

"And it is reaching, inside you…" Walking a little faster, America sings in a barely audible voice. "Forever preaching,"

Japan closes his eyes and sighs. "Germany must be infuriated with Mr. Russia for that whole scene, it ruined the meeting. But I remember seeing one of my papers float by a couple of yours, and I do-"

"Fuck you too, your scream's a whisper-"

"-back. It has data on my country's environmental influence and-"

"Hang on you, Twisted Transi-"America smacks into Japan, _hard, _his nose smashing against the Japanese man's forehead and sending his head reeling backwards. "Gosh _argh _Japan!" America cups his burning nose, feeling something keen to the warmth of blood trailing over his lip.

Japan had jumped back also, from sheer surprise, and then peaked an eye open to see what America was talking about and oh, _kuso…_ Moving quickly by America's side, Japan tries to pry the country's hands from his face but to no avail. "A-America, I'm so sorry! I did not see you coming," he stutters out nervously.

The younger nation waves him off. "It's fine, bro. I'll just have to get a new nose!"

"New…nose?" Japan's eyes widen, "is it that serious? I'm sure you won't have to get an all new one..."

"Hahaha!" Removing his hand, America puts it on his hip and stands proudly, a broad grin on his lips. Leaking like a broken faucet, blood runs from America's nose and over his lips, smaller trails branching around his mouth and dripping toward his chin. Japan cringes at the sight of it and shrinks into himself somewhat; he places a hand on the dip in America's back and pushes him forward, shaking his head and sounding like a parent as he says, "We need to get you clean right now, the carpet is too nice for stains."

"Is that your only concern?!" America shouts.

Japan sighs, "No, but it is avoidable."

* * *

With arms wrapped around his legs and chin resting on his knees, silky kimono draped on him, America watches the country before him stare at a pile of documents with intense concentration; the orange on top of his head just made him look adorable.

Eye twitching slightly from the persistent weight, Japan glances up from his papers and to America. He asks, "Why…did you put an orange on my head?"

"Why not?" America taps his toes on the ones sticking out from under the Kotatsu and laughs when Japan pulls his feet fully under the table.

"Because fruit does not belong on my head, that's why not!" Japan says with his voice rising slightly. It wasn't because he had just spent thirty minutes cleaning America's face and bandaging his nose that made the Japanese nation short-tempered, it was how his data made _no sense. _As if lifting the pages would change the statistics on the page, Japan holds them above his head and into the light. "I don't get it…"

"Dude, this is batshit boring, I think I actually fell asleep while staring at you. With my eyes open, ha," America says between yawns. He wipes a tear from his eye before stretching his back to lie on the floor. "Is this what you're going to be doing all night? Japaaaaaaaaaannnnn there's barely any light out."

Japan only huffs into the hand not holding the crinkled paper of mistake reminders, ignorance, and sheer laziness; because these numbers shouldn't be possible. Someone must have made a mistake.

"Ugh," America whines, "how can you even read? Are you using moonlight?" He turns his head to look out of the open window and at the moon and stars. Although they could have turned on the ceiling lights, Japan voted against it because he thought it was impolite to the others; America argued, but it was Japan's room, his rules….

Too bad America was bribed into letting the topic go or else he wouldn't get to sit under the Kotatsu, because who actually follows rules? Not the hero, of course!

Having to settle with dim lamp lights and the scent of flowers, America rolls on to his stomach and groans into the carpet, saying in muffled words, "Thish ish sooooo boring."

"You can always go into your own room," Japan says –more so, suggests – secretly snaps.

America lets out another boast of laughter. "Nah, my room is probably crawling with," his voice gains a British accent, _"Faeries, leprechauns, and unicorns. Although that is delightful, I fancy being here with you with a relaxing cup of tea, chap. Splendid." _America waves a hand in the air, _"Ta-ta~"_

"I don't think England would appreciate you mocking him."

It is waved off with a grin. "I do it all of the time to his face, so I think I'm good. Anyway, what could _he _do?"

* * *

_Across two hallways in America's room:_

"Mr. England! That is impolite!" A fairy smacks the Brit's hand away from her skirt and frowns, cheeks flaring a bright red.

Undeterred and drunk out of his mind, England blows her a kiss and tries to wink at her, but ends up letting his face fall to the edge of a bed. His words are a mess of slurs and hiccups, blush forming when something grabs him by his waist.

"Mmm, I likes 'hat. Ish t'at you Misses. Pearlberry? I always knew you..you were naughty– hey!" the arms yank him off of the bed and into the air, "what do you t-think you ar' doing?"

_"Mon amour, _you are a mess right now," the French voice tsks. England tries to glare at the being carrying him somewhere but his head and stomach start to swirl. He replies with a burp.

"Ah, disgusting," the voice grumbles. Placing England on his side on the bed, France lays a soft sheet over the sputtering Brit.

Giving him a scrutinizing stare, England rolls his eyes. "Are you America?" he asks.

France just shakes his head and moves to sit on the edge of the bed. _"Non," _he says,"I am not, but this is his bed." For a brief moment they make eye contact, emerald hazed over with alcohol meeting a piercing sapphire. France watches the nation mumble a "Good enough," before passing out mere seconds later.


	5. Become One With Mother Canada

Canada kicks his feet in the air, staring down at the world beneath him; the only thing between him and freefalling: a metal balcony. And if he fell? Well, he'd just brush off the dust and move on.

The fall, in itself, might be cool though…

The stillness of night shifts behind him, and before Canada can try anything a hand clasps his shoulder. "No need to take flight, Little Bird, I will not hurt you."

_Oh maple leaf… _Trying not to look too nervous, Canada glances over his shoulder to see Russia smiling down at him. "Ha..ha… I wasn't going to do anything, if that's what you mean, Mr. Russia-"

"Just call me Russia, friend."

Canada lets out another severely awkward chuckle. "Ooh, o-okay, Mr, um, no-, Russia. Russia." Deciding that he should probably move from the very edge of the balcony before he pisses off a very strong country – as if moving away would do any good, really – Canada pushes himself off the ground and stands to the right of Russia. A thought crosses his mind. "Hey, how d-did you even get in here?"

Russia peers over his shoulder at the entrance to the room. Behind the glass wall, one can clearly see a splintered hole in Canada's wooden door, large enough to fit a fist, and the doorknob hanging haphazardly on to a very loose nail.

Russia looks away as if the sight was normal and nothing was strange about the broken door. At all. He even has that innocuously evil smile on his lips, which sends a sharp shiver up Canada's spine.

He clears his throat, "So…How about that meeting earlier, eh?" Crap. Gosh _darn it _mother of maple-leaves-and-syrup-poured-over-Canadian-hockey-players, did he just say that? The nation beside him tilts his head, endless smile in place, and says a simple, "Why do you ask?"

Well, how is he supposed to answer that?

Side-stepping a little to put some distance between them, Canada begins to scratch his chin with an index finger, looking everywhere except at Russia – Russia, who is now staring at him and sending cold shrills down Canada's spine. Sure, he loves the cold, lives and breathes for it, but not _this _cold. Not the cold of winter nights in an icy wasteland covered in snow and bathed in fierce wind. Not the cold of normal, everyday Russia with happy people going about their daily routines; he can take that. But the personification of Russia has a whole other cold radiating from him and Canada isn't sure if he should run away now or later.

"Um," he says hesitantly, "Just asking, you know? Small talk…" That earns him a raised eyebrow.

"Well, since you're asking, I rather enjoyed the meeting today. It was very entertaining," Russia answers cheerily. The larger nation nods his head once, closing his eyes and smiling sweetly. He looks fairly happy then, and Canada can't help but give his own small, appreciative smile.

Until Russia opens his mouth.

In that same, mockingly sweet tone and nostalgic aura, Russia's childlike voice pierces the air and leaves it dry. "Entertaining, da? My friend, would you like to know what would have made the meeting even better?"

Canada flinches hard and takes another step away from Russia, reluctant to urge him on but he knows that resistance is futile. "Wh-what?" he asks.

"If America was on the table when I fell, that would have been splendid," Russia chuckles, "I would have crushed him. Every bone would have snapped and he'd be in the hospital for a while. Well, not for too long, because he will heal decently fast." He furrows his eyebrows thoughtfully and leans against the balcony rail on his elbows, eyes shining in the light of lampposts. A sigh breaks through the silence and he smiles. Russia turns to Canada with a bright glint in his eye, saying, "In that case, I'll just have to break his bones often, da?"

Canada's skin pales and he rushes to lean over the rail, gagging. "I think I'm going to be sick."

A hand slaps against his back painfully, and Canada yelps as Russia flips him around so that they're facing each other. With a very intense and serious expression, Russia lightly offers, "Become one with me, comrade, and we can get rid of America together."

"What?! N-no! He's like my brother!" Canada rejects and wiggles against Russia's hold on his arms. His eyes widen in panic. "Oh god.. L-let go of me, R-Russia. This isn't funny."

"But I'm seriously asking," Russia says, "Well, okay, we don't have to destroy America… yet," he adds. "How about you just become one? Our land is nearby anyway. It's reasonable."

Canada vehemently shakes his head. "No!"

Russia's expression turns earnest. "I'll give you plenty of maple syrup, sweaters, hockey games, and we can make pancakes together. That's fun, right?" He gives Canada a little shake, "I even have cuddly bears willing to play with your Kumajiro."

"No, Russ-"Canada raises an eyebrow. "You'd do that for Kumatatchi?"

The nation nods. "Of course."

…

"Eh, he has enough 'friends' in me. Sorry, but I have to decline," Canada nervously says, to which Russia just shrugs, drops him, and walks off… after kicking his hotel room door down. Honestly, Canada can't say that he's surprised, but for some reason neither can he shake the feeling that Russia isn't done with him yet.

* * *

Despite not having a front door to his room (only a cot strewn in the place that should be accommodate a door), Canada is happy. The night is clear with only a few dazzling stars illuminating the sky, and he's gotten over his suspicion of a creepy Russian menace attacking him.

Stepping out of the shower, he drapes a long blue towel loosely around his waist and ties it at his hip. The air hits him refreshingly, a nice contrast from hot to cool, as he brushes his teeth and then towel dries his hair with much abandon. He's still rummaging the towel around his scalp when he walks out of the bathroom.

It was a nice choice to stay in a room by himself – not that anyone would have knowingly shared with him, but still. The freedom felt unparalleled, being able to walk around aimlessly, except when near the half blocked 'door', and do what he pleases.

Tonight, he is going to sleep like a king.

Walking into the bedroom, Canada doesn't bother to glance around before he unwrap the towel and steps into his favorite pair of camouflage boxers, crawls into bed, and rests his head on a pillow. He throws his arm around another, larger and firmer pillow. Canada frowns. Is his pillow…breathing?

The blood in his veins run cold.

"Goodnight, comrade."

* * *

"Dude! This game's quality is _legit,_" America exclaims, leaning forward on his knees and narrowing his eyes at the screen, thumbs moving a mile a minute as he maneuvers his character through a crowd of zombies. "Didn't know they added screams on Zombies," he comments.

Japan, who is hanging off his bed a few inches from America's head, raises an eyebrow. "They didn't. The scream must not have come from the game." Shuffling back a bit a prop himself up by his arms, he looks around the room questionably. "So you heard it too?"

Successfully pulling off a headshot at the last second, America bounces excitedly. "Yeah man," he says.

"Hm," Japan hums, "How strange. I wonder if the other countries are okay…"

"Oh yeah, they're fine. Don't worry about-" A zombie grabs America's character and he shoots it just before it bit, "OH! Did you _see _that Japan? Wish I could do that to Russia! Hahahahaha!"

* * *

**_So!_ **_It's been absolutely forever since I've updated this. Much apologies - but enough with that. Let me know what you thought and I'll see you guys next update~ Hope you enjoyed _


	6. All A Part of Their Morning Routine

"Ugh…mmph," England groans while running a clammy hand over his eyes, frowning in slight disgust. He feels sweaty and sticky and much too warm for comfort, so he wipes the sweat off his hands and onto the bed sheet (which does nothing) before flipping on to his other side, finding himself nestled against a warmer and more persistent source of heat.

"What the-," England flings himself up and over the cream colored sheets, heart pounding in his ears. "_France! _What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he screeches and, just as a precaution, checks under the sheets to make sure that he's clothed. Green and white pajama pants; thank God.

Steering from his sleep, the French nation slowly lifts off his pillow and crosses his legs, wiping at watery eyes. _"Mon dieu, en Angleterre, vous êtes une harpie," _he says groggily.

England huffs and cross his arms, glaring daggers at the still-very-tired France. "Speak bloody English, Frog."

Ignoring the urge to piss England off further and go on a rant in solely French about how much the British nation annoys him, France, instead, sighs heavily. It's too early to translate, much too early. Actually, any time of day is too early to translate and he has a hard enough time forcing himself to when he's at meeting or with non-French speakers. That's why he doesn't do it a good half the time. It's pointless.

Raking his mind for the dusty "language" cabinet shoved to the back of his memory, he mentally flicks through the files and pulls out the one labeled English; regrettably, it's the most used file in there.

Reluctantly lifting his head to make eye contact with his frustrated bed partner, France speaks slowly. "It is much too early for your antics, _Angleterre,_" he says. Taking in their positions, he's confused as to why England is fretting anyway. He slept over the sheets whereas England slept under them, tucked away, with his body turned most of the night. And he was wasted anyway – oh. Ohonhon, England indeed was intoxicated. Putting on an innocent expression, France raises an eyebrow. "Why are you freaking out?"

A dark blush spreads over England's cheeks. "W-We, what, I… Why are we in the same bed?" He looks around the room and nothing is familiar. "And where the hell are we?"

Just as vague as he can be, France gasps in shock. "You don't remember?"

"Remember what?" England growls, his frown deepening.

France places his hand over his mouth dramatically. "_Mon amour, _how can you not remember…?"

Something drops to the pit of England's stomach and suddenly he feels a thump in his temples and slight nausea. His skin pales considerably. "France, if you don't tell me exactly what you're talking about right now I will strangle you back to the Dark Ages." The threat is emphasized by England shuffling forward and leaning over France, squeezing his collar tightly. His words come out frantically, "What the hell happened?!"

"Ohonhon, wouldn't you like to know," France chimes and blatantly smirks, winking charmingly and chuckling. The fist that slams into his cheek is enough to knock the smirk right off his face.

"You piece of moldy horse cheese! I command you to tell me right now-" England's shout is interrupted by a gurgling noise from his stomach. He gags, pulling away France and doubling over to wrap his arms around his abdomen. Movements like a rocking chair, England groans pathetically, "Uggnh, what did you do to me…"

France cups his aching cheek and shuffles to the head of the bed to keep away from England. "Nothing! You did it to yourself!" he denies.

Another sickening rumble sounds and England belches; he plants his face on the bed. "Bullocks, I didn't get…drunk or anything," England shakes his head – which is just rubbing his cheek against the sheets, "France."

Said nation scoffs and remains silent.

"France," he tries again, "answer me, damn it."

"What?" France snaps.

"I'm hung over, aren't I?"

Taking the opportunity, France kicks England's foot. _"Oui." _

In reply, England mumbles something about brewing tea under his breath before flattening himself out on the bed.

... '_This is going to be a long morning_,' France solemnly thinks, and has to force himself to resist his strong urge to shove England off the bed.

* * *

_'This is going to be a long morning,' _Germany solemnly thinks as he tries not have a heart attack every time Italy walks far too close to the water or some poor bird that looks ready to poke the Italian's eyes out.

Somehow, miraculously, both he and Italy had gotten out of bed, showered, and eaten without much trouble (as in Italy complaining and moving lazily). Once they finished their morning routine, Italy actually sat patiently when Germany had to review a few points in the agenda for today's meeting, and Germany was more than surprised when the nation willingly asked for some wurst.

It had been a peaceful and relaxing morning; _had _being the key word.

Now he is sitting on a relatively comfortable bench, attentively watching Italy run around the park like a child, on the brink of an aneurism and heart attack and permanent high blood pressure and _s__cheiße _this is terrible for his health.

"Italy," he calls, "try to be a little more careful! You might fall into the water!"

The Italian glances at him for half a second, shouting, "Aye aye, Captain!" before continuing to run around like a fool.

Germany sighs in exasperation. It's a lost cause to try to tame Italy, he knows, but whenever he's around the nation he can't help but feel obligated to watch after him. Like a mother goose. He frowns at the thought. Germany: the Mother Goose; sounds like a movie Prussia would love to watch.

Well, it's not like he _hates _watching after Italy. It's annoying and fills him with anxiety and hypertension but there is also a warming sensation when he's with him. Whatever part of his brain that categorizes 'protecting Italy' as fun must be broken. That's the only reasonable explanation.

Feeling a smile forming on his lips, Germany lets himself relax into the seat. The day is nice: bright with a cool breeze and puffy clouds floating in the sky, not much to complain about. Glancing at his watch he reads the time leisurely. Good, it's still early enough to not worry about leaving for the meeting just yet. So he goes back to watching his friend jump around and chase after birds, enjoying the sound of his laughter.

* * *

It's sticky, milky, warm, and sweet. Sliding out easily and dropping in a tempting wave, Canada licks his lips as he tilts the syrup bottle upwards and wipes the excess off the side of the cap, happily sucking the sweet, sweet, maple off his finger. Picking up the plate he made right before, tiered with four pancakes also, he carries them over to the table and slides a plate to his guest.

"Here you go," he says, "my world famous pancakes cooked fresh for your enjoyment. I even added some cinnamon this time."

Russia watches his Canadian pal sit down and waits for him to eat; except, Canada doesn't, instead folding his arms and watching him intently. "Try it," he urges.

Not wasting much time, Russia cuts out a triangle slice of pancake and gently places it in his mouth. With the best poker face Canada has ever seen, Russia chews his food slowly. His toes curl in anticipation, not even waiting for Russia to fully swallow before his leaning closer to the table. "What do you think?"

Probably just to put his friend on edge, Russia waits a minute after swallowing to answer. When he finally does, he smiles. "It is very good, friend."

A pair of fists hit the table, _hard. _"Yes!" Canada shouts, "They must be amazing if even you like them!" Russia raises an eyebrow at him questionably and a radiant blush forms on Canada's cheeks and down his neck. "I um, ha…ha I meant that… Erm," he bites his lower lip, "I'm glad you like them?" He ends awkwardly and quirks a nervous smile.

Russia, simply, eats another forkful and hums. Luckily, Canada doesn't spot a tell-tale, signature aura surrounding Russia.


End file.
